What I learned about writing – The day the story found me

The Day the Story Found Me: From Struggle to Sudden Spark

Every writer knows it. That dull ache in the chest, the persistent whisper of doubt, the relentless battle with the blank page. For the struggling writer, it’s a daily grind, a Sisyphean task where the boulder of ambition is constantly rolling back down the hill of reality. Rejection letters pile up, the coffee runs cold, and the endless pursuit of the perfect word feels less like a passion and more like a cruel cosmic joke.

You’ve tried everything. Outlines, free writing, prompts, word sprints. You’ve haunted libraries, notebooks clutched tight, hoping for osmosis to spark some brilliance. You’ve watched other writers soar, their words effortless, their stories finding homes, while yours remain orphans, lingering in the digital ether or gathering dust in a forgotten drawer. The financial strain is real, the sacrifices profound, and the question echoes louder each day: Am I even good enough? Is this all just a delusion?

You’re tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired.

And then, it happens.

It rarely comes when you’re looking for it, certainly not when you’re diligently sitting at your desk, forcing words onto the page. No, it’s often in the liminal spaces: while staring out a rain-streaked window on a bus, stirring sugar into cheap coffee at a diner, or perhaps in the hazy, half-awake moments just before dawn.

A vision.

It might be a place you’ve never seen, yet feel instantly familiar – a cobblestone street under a sky of bruised purple, a forgotten lighthouse crumbling into the sea, a bustling market stall overflowing with exotic spices. Or perhaps it’s a scene: a hushed conversation in the shadows, a desperate chase through a moonlit forest, a quiet moment of profound grief or unexpected joy that punches you in the gut with its raw emotion.

Sometimes, it’s a person. A face in a crowd that catches your eye, not because they’re strikingly beautiful, but because their expression holds a story – a flicker of sadness, a mischievous glint, a world-weary sigh. Or a voice, a fragment of dialogue overheard, that resonates with a truth so deep, it feels like it was meant for you alone.

It’s not just an idea; it’s an insistence. It’s a spark that hits the kindling of your tired soul, and suddenly, everything snaps into focus. It’s vivid, overwhelming, and utterly, undeniably real. It demands attention, a story clamouring to be told through your fingers, your voice. It vibrates with life, a fully formed universe begging to be unleashed.

And, suddenly…

The quiet hum of doubt is drowned out by a roar of possibility. The blank page, once a terrifying void, transforms into an eager canvas. Your fingers, which moments ago felt heavy and useless, now fly across the keyboard, barely keeping pace with the torrent of words pouring from your mind. The characters, the settings, the plot twists – they aren’t being invented; they’re being uncovered, as if they’ve always existed, just waiting for you to find them.

The weariness vanishes, replaced by an electrifying surge of energy. Hours bleed into minutes, the outside world fading into a blurry background. The coffee grows cold again, but this time, you don’t notice. You are a conduit, a vessel, connected to something vast and ancient and utterly magical. The story isn’t a task; it’s a fever, a joyous obsession. You are no longer struggling; you are creating. You are finally the writer you always knew you could be, because the story, in all its raw, vibrant glory, has finally found you.

This is the writer’s miracle. The moment when persistence meets pure, unadulterated inspiration. It’s a testament to showing up, even when it feels pointless. Because sometimes, all it takes is one single, unforgettable vision to remind you why you started, and to finally set your wildest tales free.

Have you ever experienced a moment like this? Share your stories of sudden inspiration in the comments below!

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 160

Day 160 – Writing Exercise – The day righted itself, as a waitress put a folded napkin under a wobbly table

…

We were struggling.

It was not as if it had happened overnight; it was the culmination of a series of events, some unfortunate, but all the result of circumstances beyond our control.

And it wasn’t as if we were living high in the hog, as my father called it, encompassing those he believed were spending more than they earned.

We were just ordinary people with ordinary jobs trying to stay afloat in an ordinary world.

Neither of us had the opportunity to get a tertiary education; our parents were just regular folk who struggled barely. They had fared reasonably well through the financial crisis because they had no investments, shares, or savings.

They had just enough to see us through high school and teach us the two valuable rules that they hoped would see us through. Do not get credit and do not spend money you don’t have.

And despite the temptation to keep up with others, we didn’t. We could have new furniture, we could go on lavish holidays, we could go out for dinners, but we didn’t.

And in the end, it didn’t really matter.

The factory where I worked could no longer compete with the cheap imports, and it didn’t matter that it had lasted 121 years, making the best furniture in the world; the cheap imports copied the designs and sold them for sixty per cent less.

They’d gone through restructures and staff cuts, even a degree of mechanisation, but it didn’t matter. My job, and over a thousand others, just disappeared.

There was no other work, not in a city where forty five percent of the workforce were unemployment.

It took six weeks for the flow-on effect to hit everything else, and then Lucy’s job was cut, along with another ten per cent of those who still had jobs.

I heard it from a friend before Lucy got home.

She was devastated. It was, she said, a good thing our parents were not alive to see what had happened to the city they honestly believed was God’s Green Earth.

Perhaps now it was time for Plan B.

….

When I got laid off, we sat at the table that had seen happier times, and at dinner with a strange sort of satisfaction that I had wanted to believe was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives.

That had been blunted by the discovery that there were no jobs, and if there were, there were over a hundred applicants.

A few weeks later, as the redundancy money was dwindling, Lucy spoke of the nearby silent rumours she and her friends passed around, that retail outlets were beginning to see a considerable drop in sales.

No need to say out loud what that meant.

That’s when I said we may have to bite the bullet and pay a visit to my Uncle Robert.

My father only had one brother, and I had only met him twice in my life, once when my father discovered he had terminal cancer, and the second, at my father’s funeral.

He was bombastic and condescending.

He did not understand why a brilliant and very clever man like my father would settle for mediocre. He had up and left for the big city to make his fortune the day after he graduated.

It went against my grandparents’ request, and for that, they ostracised him. We had met him at the funeral, and Lucy took an instant dislike to him. It was not surprising.

It might have had something to do with calling our city a dump, and had intimated that if I came to my senses, to come and see him, and he would give me a real job. I had no qualifications, but he had said all I needed was the Bannister name.

I declined then, but now, I might not have that luxury. Lucy deserved better than what had happened.

And when she lost her job, with no new job to be found, the point where we said we would talk about it again had arrived.

…

I’d been out doing the rounds of the employment agencies, joining the other job seekers who had not given up hope, and found little encouragement.

It was worse for the men who had children, because their responsibilities were far harder than mine. I came in and saw Lucy sitting at the table, most likely working out the budget.

When I sat down and looked at her, I could see the tears; some had dripped onto the top bill, the rent account. We were at the point where it had become unaffordable, and the landlord was not accepting excuses.

We were only one of many all over who were in financial difficulty, and there were far too many people who were being forced into temporary accommodation or out onto the street.

We would be next.

I took her hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We have to leave. We have some money left, enough to get us to Chicago, and I will go see Uncle Robert. He promised to help us. I called, and he is expecting us.”

She shook her head. I knew she didn’t want to leave. Everyone and everything she knew was here, and for the nothing of us it was going to be very difficult. Going to the big city, where we didn’t know anyone or how people lived.

“We will be all on our own.”

“We will have jobs and a place to live.”

“How can we trust someone that we don’t know?”

I had, but that had been based on my father’s assessment, based on years of hate and misery from his brother as a child. Nor, as I understood it, did he get along with his father, because as children we had not seen our grandparents, except at the funeral of my father.

To be honest, I had no idea what to expect, but one thing I did know. If my uncle failed me, Lucy would never forgive me.

But the alternative was unbearable, that we would become destitute, and I would lose her. I could not begin to imagine what my life would be like without her.

“How could we have trusted those who have let us down so badly. We have been abandoned by the very people who had said that if we got into trouble, they would help us. They have not.”

“Because they are like us.”

“I know. I get it. But we can’t stay here. You know as well as I do, we’ve reached the point of no return.”

“But everything we own, we have…”

“Means nothing. All we really have is each other, Lucy. Our love, our trust, and our hopes and dreams. It’ll just be somewhere else. This city is dying slowly, and people are leaving. What’s done is done.”

She took a minute to consider the situation, perhaps find a way around the problem, but she had been put with her friends. If there had been any ideas
Among them, she would have it to tell me.

“When?”

“Before the next rent is due.”

“Friday?”

“Thursday would be better. We are just going to have to leave? And hope we don’t have to make up lies to get away. We simply don’t have enough without completely depleting our reserve. And why wait another month for the inevitable?”

I hoped she could see the sense in it. The only problem was simply walking away from everything. There was a lot of time and effort put into making a life in that apartment. It wasn’t the best of places, but it was our home and had been from the day we married.

So many memories.

She looked up and smiled wanly. “Thursday.”

“Pack only what we can carry. It won’t be a lot. I’ll get tickets on the 11 o’clock special, a sleeper. We can afford one last treat.”

“Your uncle is expecting us?”

“He is.”

…

Lucy chose to tell her friends that we were going away for a few days, visiting relatives in Chicago. She said she could not bring herself to tell them that it might be forever, though I suspect a small part of her wanted to believe we were coming back.

For me, it was more difficult, and I just chose not to alert anyone to my plan. I convinced myself it was a plan, but it was a move borne of desperation because of this failure. I didn’t know what I was going to do.

Fear of failing Lucy was my only concern. She was doing everything I asked because she trusted me. That trust would only go so far.

It was strange how quickly time flies when you’re about to do something drastic. I thought it would drag, but no. We were standing in the dining area, taking in a last look at the place that had been home for the last ten years.

The times we had laughed and cried, the parties and the agonies. We’d never expected life to be easy, but we never expected it to be this hard. We always believed no matter what, we’d muddle through, like our parents and their parents before them.

“Somehow I can’t feel anything,” Lucy said. “It’s just four walls and, well, nothing.”

“I had expected that memories would be flooding back, but it’s like we were never here.”

“Maybe it was just a stage in a journey.”

Maybe it was. Perhaps it was just both of us trying to think about the future and not let the past drag us down.

We both had a backpack and a suitcase with everything we wanted, enough for a few days. We didn’t own anything expensive, other than our cell phones.

A last look, we walked out the door, closed it for the last time, and left the building. The bus stopped outside the door and took us to the railway station.

The train was due in an hour and a half. After getting the tickets, we would have a snack at the restaurant attached to the depot.

I had hoped Riley, the Station Master, would not be on, but it felt like an omen when I saw his smiling face in the ticket office.

He was unofficially voted the happiest man in town, always bright and cheery, the one smiling face surrounded by a world in turmoil. He was probably one of the few with a permanent job.

My father had been one of his friends, and he had been a frequent visitor at Sunday lunches at my parents’ places. Sometimes I would go visit, but our contact had become less frequent over time and especially after my father’s death.

“Richard, long time, no see. How are you?” He had conveniently ignored the fact that we had baggage.

“Good.”

“Lucy?”

Lucy was not looking particularly happy, but he chose to ignore that too.

“I’m fine, Mr West.”

“How can I help you?”

“We’re going to Chicago for a few days.”

“Yes, I believe you are.”

“How…” Lucy said it before she could stop herself.

Like her, I wondered if the one person I trusted with the secret had talked. Rumours travelled like wildfire, despite

“Funny story that. A couple of days ago, I got a call from a lady by the name of Delilah McEwan. She says she is calling on behalf of her boss, Robert Bannister. Bannister, she says. I know a Bannister, and lo and behold, it is the invisible brother. Met him once at the funeral. Larger than life and loud too. Seems he understands you’re coming to Chicago, and would like me to book a sleeper, first class and all, for Richard and Lucille Bannister. No problem, I say, and it’s done.”

He went over to a large cabinet and pulled out an envelope, and came back with it, putting it on the counter between us.

“Tickets, a letter from Ms McEwan, inclusive of all meals and drinks if you so desire. Perhaps the man is not as bad as we may cast him?”

“Perhaps not,” I said, after a few moments to get over the surprise. I had not expected this.

Then he came closer and spoke in a lower tone. “I’m guessing, given the nature of affairs here, you might not be coming back. Not until things get better. I’m not surprised. There’s a steady stream of folk leaving, some old and dear friends, and it breaks my heart. But you must do what you must to survive.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you when the train arrives. Be here about 15 minutes before. It’s currently running five minutes behind schedule. You can leave your bags with me, and pick them up later. “

…

It was, I thought, a good thing we were wearing our best clothes. They only came out on special occasions, and this train trip was exactly that.

Barely out the door, Lucy said, almost in a breathless whisper, “First Class, what is that about. We’re never going to be able to pay him back.”

“I’m sure we can work something out. After all, he wouldn’t do it unless he had a plan, so we could. Perhaps the jobs he had found for us might pay enough so we can. But for the moment, let’s not worry too much. I’m taking this as a sign.”

We stopped outside the chicken restaurant. While it hadn’t been too expensive, it was just Lucy could fry chicken just as nicely. I had thought, tonight, we could splurge.

“The ticket includes food,” she said, “so let’s just have some coffee and pie instead.”

We had been told about the cafe near the station before, because of its famed apple pie.

Inside it was warm. Outside, the first signs of a long, cold, and bitter winter were in the air, and I was sure it would start raining soon. The weather in Chicago would be freezing, and a little above that, around the time we arrived.

We were used to it and brought out our snow clothes.

She slid the envelope across the table and opened it. Two tickets, First Class, all inclusive, that I knew would end up in her scrapbook history of our family, a letter, and a guidebook.

She opened the envelope and pulled out a single page.

“From Ms McEwan,” she said.

Not from my Uncle. It made sense. He was a busy man and had assigned us to his personal assistant.

Dear Richard and Lucille,” she wrinkled her nose, a sign that she did not like being called Lucille, even if that was her name.

Perhaps it had been the way her mother used it when she was annoyed with her daughter.

“We are delighted that you will be coming to Chicago and joining our group. The Bannisters have long been synonymous with Chicago, and we like to believe we have helped in making our city what it is today.

“You are part of the next generation, and no doubt you will be very happy to join our endeavours to continue that collaboration.

“Mr Bannister is eagerly awaiting your arrival, but first we must get you situated and prepared. I will be at the station tomorrow when you arrive, and will guide you through the next few days.”

“Once again, we welcome you to the Bannister collective, and cannot wait to see what the furniture holds.”

She shook her head.

“Its sound like we’re about to join a cult. The Bannister Collective. It’s like a Steven King novel.”

“Or it’s just an oddish uncle that had trouble expressing himself.”

“It doesn’t strike as strange?”

“It does, but I’m not going to read anything into it until we meet him. And this Ms McEwan.”

She shrugged. “Don’t you think we have jobs waiting for us. It seems so.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Something other than waiting tables.”

“So, if you’re asked…?”

“Organising catering, I could certainly do a lot better than most of the people who had that job in the places I’ve worked. But I had no experience.”

“You’ve been at the coal face for years. You see all the stuff-ups and problems from the perfect perspective. Perhaps this will be your chance.”

“Perhaps. What about you? Factory hand, how can you parley that into a better job? It was not always what I wanted to do, Lucy, it was what I had to do.”

She looked at me with a certain amount of surprise, perhaps remembering that moment when we were finally together after the prom, when we decided there, and then we would get married, and spoke of our hopes and dreams.

I had imagined a very different life for us.

“Just because Mr Jacobs said you had the talent to become a good journalist based on your work for the school paper, he did say you had to hone those skills at college, which you couldn’t afford. Now, it’s probably too late.”

“I kept writing, you know. Seeking out stories. Writing pieces over the years. I chronicled the downturn of the city as it sank into the mire of economic disaster, government abandonment, and the final death blow. It doesn’t make pretty reading.”

“But it doesn’t make Pulitzer prize material, Richard. You, me, were nobodies in a world full of nobodies.”

“Then maybe, just maybe, this is our time to turn that around.”

…

Getting the privileges of first class was not the same as deserving first class. We didn’t fit in, in our own minds, which made it awkward, until we realised that it didn’t matter who we were to the staff; they treated us like we belonged.

And in turn, we treated them the sort of respect they deserved. After all, people responded to kindness.

What was prevalent in those two hours we spent in the dining room, asking questions when we were not sure, accepting recommendations, and savouring the sort of food we could never have afforded, was the stark difference between the haves and have-nots.

The staff may have known each passenger’s status, but it never once showed. In their voices or manner. It did, however, change for a certain couple who made a lot of noise and complained about everything.

How did people who had those advantages so many others didn’t become so ungrateful?

By the time we were ready for bed, Lucy had begun to relax, just a little, in case that thin veneer of goodness that surrounded us shattered. Even that cramped space felt more luxurious than anything we had, so we savoured the pleasure rather than eschewing it.

The next morning, we both woke refreshed and perhaps a little more confident that life could be better. Breakfast was another of those small pleasures, and we took our time.

The coffee was far better than anything we had before, and not knowing its origin or cost or anything for that matter, we simply took it as of it was as if it was something we had all the time.

The complaining couple were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were not morning people.

The rest of the morning passed, watching the wintry landscape, our fellow passengers, and the staff going through their routine. We both knew the experience would end soon, so it was time to reacclimatise to our reality.

Off the train, it was going to be a whole new world.

…

We thanked the train staff for their kindness and assistance, gathered our baggage and joined the queue to disembark. The loudmouth couple were several down from the front of the queue, complaining loudly that they had to get to an important business meeting.

No one was giving up the spot to let them pass.

We waited patiently, like everyone else, and, thanking the carriage attendant again, stepped down onto the platform.

We had arrived in Chicago. There was no Delilah McEwan on the platform, but I suspected she would be outside in the main station waiting for us to exit through the platform gate.

I saw Lucy looking around, too. She was as amazed as I was at the size and how busy it was. This was going to be a lot different to out home town. She took my hand, and I squeezed it gently. This was bigger, noisier and more paced than she had ever seen before.

We filed through the gate and into the passage that led to the station foyer. Coming out into the huge, carious space, larger than anything we had ever seen before, I saw a lady and a tall man in a chauffeur’s uniform, and headed towards her.

She was standing under the ‘To trains’ sign.

“You must be Richard?” She said smiling. She shook my hand, she gave Lucy a hug. Lucy hadn’t expected it, but in a way it made her feel more welcome.

“John will take your cases to the car. Welcome to Chicago. I’m sure right now, you are almost overwhelmed by just the size of this building. You will get used to it.”

“This is just the station?” Lucy said.

“If you go to New York, they don’t call Grand Central Station grand for nothing. But it’s big, I’ll grant you that.”

We followed the chauffeur.

“We have set up an apartment for you, where you will be staying until you decide where you want to live. There’s no hurry; you will want to get settled and explore the city. Mr Bannister will see you both for dinner tomorrow night, and then the next day you will have interviews so we can give you a job best suited.”

“We will be working for Mr Bannister?” Lucy asked.

“We wanted to make sure you had a job while you get settled, and when you feel ready, you can stay, or you can explore the possibilities. There’s no compulsion, we’re just making your first few days, and weeks, less daunting.”

“We can pay for the apartment,” I said. Perhaps pride got the better of me because we didn’t have that much money. All the same…

“That’s alright, Richard. Mr Bannister is treating this as if he asked you to come work for him, so coming from another state, you get free accommodation for one month, or longer, at a reduced rate if necessary. You can also apply for a subsidised loan for a vehicle. These are all matters that will be explained in more detail tomorrow. As for now, let’s get you settled.”

…

I was still waiting for the bubble to burst.

I would be hesitant to say we were ‘settled’ because the moment Delilah walked out the door, both of us just looked at each other and thought exactly the same thought.

It was too good to be true.

The apartment was larger, new, and brighter than anything we had or expected. It was like staying in a five-star hotel, or so Lucy said when she had applied for a housekeeper’s role at a hotel in the county’s main city.

To me, it was something out of a magazine I’d seen at the barber shop.

There was an envelope on the counter welcoming us. It had a debit card with a limit that Delilah didn’t mention, so we could get what we needed. Lucy would need clothes for the next two days. So would I.

Then Lucy asked the question: “How is this possible?”

It was one I asked myself as Delilah rattled off the benefits. All I could say was, it’s the name, Bannister. We were part of the family, and like my father taught me, family looks after family.

It seemed odd that it took this long for Uncle Robert to realise he had extended family, but that I suspect had something to do with my father, and his disdain for his family.

He was an honest, hard-working, ordinary man. The Bannisters, now that I thought about it, his family, were rich, and he wanted to make his own way in the world, not accept a leg up or any favours.

Not like his brother. Just on the edges of my memory was a telephone conversation I was never meant to hear, when my uncle had offered his brother money, but as a loan. He had told his brother where he could put his money.

His brother never called again. He came for the funeral but left soon after. He offered his condolences; that was all.

“Crisis of conscience. He couldn’t help my father because he wouldn’t let him. I’m not so proud, but there is a limit. We will have to pay him back, no matter how long it takes.”

“My thought exactly. Perhaps we could tell your Uncle tomorrow. Dinner sounds exciting and scary at the same time. This time we’ll be in front of a lot more people.”

“It’s just dinner in a fancier setting. We’ll manage.”

“Fancy coffee. I’d make it, but I saw the cafe down in the foyer, and those cakes looked amazing.”

“Coffer it is.”

A few minutes later, we were whisked down to the ground floor, where the building’s residents were beginning to trickle in.

The cafe has a short line waiting to be seated. I’d never had to wait before. There was a lot of stress in that line, and I wondered if big city life was a lot more stressful than back home.

Then it was our turn, and the waitress, in a perfect uniform, with the nametag Wendy, directed us to a table. When she put the menus on it, it rocked.

It was one of those tables that didn’t sit perfectly on the floor, and I could see a flicker of concern in Lucy’s eyes. She had been half expecting an omen like this.

But, in the next second, a busboy came over with a piece of cardboard and fixed the rocking table. I heard Lucy sigh in relief.

That omen could have undone everything. Now, to her, it was like we were meant to be here.

We sat, ordered coffee and two French pastries, and Lucy used her schoolgirl French to describe the cake exactly, and the waitress showed she was fluent in the language. A short conversation on French ensued.

When the waitress left, she said, now smiling, and happiest I had seen her in months, “I am so sorry glad we came, I can’t wait for the interviews.”

“Or the endless conversations you can have with your new friend.”

“It’s practically the first time. Maybe one day we can go to France.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Sitting there, looking at her glow return, I didn’t think it mattered much how things went. If we believed hard enough, everything would work out.

…

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Oslo

Oslo’s Quiet Gems: 5 Distinctive Attractions That Skip the Tourist Crowds

Oslo is a city defined by breathtaking fjords, modern architectural marvels, and world-class museums. While favourites like the Opera House and the bustling Vigeland Sculpture Park deserve their accolades, sometimes the best travel memories are forged in the quiet corners—those distinctive spots overlooked by the masses.

If you are seeking authenticity, tranquillity, and attractions that offer a truly unique Norwegian flavour without the elbow-to-elbow experience, put down the guidebook and follow our list.

Here are five distinctive Oslo attractions where you can slow down and savour the discovery.

1. Ekebergparken (Ekeberg Sculpture Park)

While Oslo has many incredible viewpoints, few combine panoramic vistas with world-class contemporary art quite like Ekebergparken. Located on the hillside southeast of the city centre, this park is less of a museum and more of an experience.

What Makes it Distinctive? The park features works by international greats like James Turrell, Marina Abramović, and Louise Bourgeois, cleverly integrated into the natural forest landscape. Beyond the art, the site itself is historically significant, featuring ancient rock carvings and WWII bunkers. Critically, these park trails offer one of the best and least crowded settings for capturing the iconic view immortalised in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”

Why It’s Uncrowded: It requires a short tram ride up the hill (Line 18 or 19 to Ekebergparken stop), which deters many tourists from sticking solely to the central harbour area.

2. The Emanuel Vigeland Mausoleum

Prepare yourself for a truly unique, slightly macabre, and deeply rewarding experience. While Gustav Vigeland’s towering statues draw millions, his highly eccentric brother Emanuel created a private, haunting masterpiece—his own mausoleum and final resting place.

What Makes it Distinctive? The entire interior of the small, unmarked structure is a dark, barrel-vaulted room adorned with frescoes collectively titled Vita (Life). The ceiling-to-floor artwork depicts dramatic, often heavy themes of human life, death, and sexuality. The atmosphere is deliberately intense: the lights are kept very low, and the acoustics are so sensitive that a caretaker politely requests silence to enhance the feeling of solemn isolation.

Why It’s Uncrowded: It has extremely limited opening hours (usually Sunday afternoons only), making it challenging to visit—which is exactly why it remains a hidden gem for dedicated travellers.

3. Hovedøya Island (The Main Island)

For an immediate escape from city life, hop on a short ferry ride (Boat B1, B2, B3, or B4) from Aker Brygge and head to Hovedøya, the largest and most historically rich island in the Oslo Fjord.

What Makes it Distinctive? Hovedøya offers a perfect blend of lush nature, bathing spots, and fascinating ruins. Within minutes of arriving, you can explore the preserved Cistercian monastery ruins dating back to 1147. Later, the island served as a military base, and you can still find remnants of old defensive structures. Wander the trails, enjoy a picnic by the water, or simply study the medieval stone walls, all while enjoying the crisp fjord air.

Why It’s Uncrowded: While popular with Oslo locals in the height of summer, international tourists often overlook the entire island system in favour of mainland attractions. The short boat journey feels like a genuine adventure but keeps the large tour groups away.

4. Damstredet and Telthusbakken

While Oslo is a modern capital, pockets of its wooden house past remain beautifully preserved. A short walk uphill from the central areas of the city brings you to the charming, picturesque streets of Damstredet and Telthusbakken.

What Makes it Distinctive? These two winding cobblestone streets feel like stepping into a storybook. Lined with perfectly maintained, brightly colored wooden houses from the 18th and 19th centuries, the whole atmosphere speaks of quiet history. Damstredet in particular offers splendid photo opportunities and a glimpse into how many Oslo residents lived before the major urban modernisation programs.

Why It’s Uncrowded: This attraction is purely residential and free. It requires no ticket and isn’t featured on organised group tours. It’s a perfect addition to a self-guided walking tour between the city centre and the tranquil Vår Frelser Cemetery (another quiet spot worth stopping at).

5. The Tøyen Botanical Garden (Botanisk Hage)

Located just outside the buzzing central districts in the Tøyen neighbourhood, Oslo’s Botanical Garden is a serene and scientifically significant outdoor museum that most tourists walk right past on their way to the newer attractions.

What Makes it Distinctive? Managed by the Natural History Museum, the garden is Norway’s oldest and most diverse living collection. Visitors can explore various climate zones within the beautiful Palm House and the Victoria House (home to massive water lilies). The highlight is often the peaceful Scent Garden, designed specifically for the visually impaired, and the historic Old Garden, showcasing plants used for food and medicine throughout Norwegian history.

Why It’s Uncrowded: Despite its beauty and central location near the Munch Museum, the garden offers ample space and shaded trails, meaning the large foot traffic in the area quickly dissipates once you enter the gates. It’s a perfect green lung for contemplation.

Seeking the Authentic Oslo

By prioritizing these five distinctive, yet uncrowded, locations, you gain a deeper understanding of Oslo’s rich history, its commitment to art integration, and the beautiful relationship Norwegians have with their surrounding nature.

Skip the queue, find your quiet corner, and enjoy the authentic pulse of this incredible Nordic capital.

Have you discovered a quiet spot in Oslo that you love? Share your hidden gem in the comments below!

In a word: birth

The most common use of the word, giving birth to a child, is perhaps one of the more miraculous and inspiring events ever to be witnessed.

But it can be used similarly in giving birth to an idea. More generally it could be said that it is the coming into existence of something, animate or inanimate.

It can be used to state lineage or descent, i.e. he was Italian by birth, or he was a Duke by birth, but a politician by trade.

You could use birth pain in other expressions like trying to get a club or team together, those initial stages where everything goes wrong.

And that old favourite, wanted by every man and his dog, what is your date of birth?

…

On the other hand, a berth is a place where a ship or boat ties up after a long or short voyage.

It’s also a bed on a ship, not necessarily in a stateroom, but could be in one of those shared cabins below the waterline that do not cost a lot, and only a place to sleep, or for some, to recuperate. It doesn’t necessarily have to be on a ship, it could be on a train.

It could be the distance between two ships or the shore.

You could also use it to describe your job or position in the company.

Then, you could say you gave the enemy’s camp a wide berth, or just a group of people we don’t want to pass in the street.

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t. It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed, came away from the window and looked around the room. It was quite large and expensively furnished. It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917. At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring. Not that she had blurted that out the first time they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration honouring one of the Embassy officials’ service in Moscow, soon to be returning home after 10 years. She had been there one and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked; Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and, of course, what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this were a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity. She knew the signs of a man interested in her, and Vladimir was.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined. After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month. There was a party at the American embassy, and along with several other staff members, she was invited. She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends. She had broached the subject of being involved in a platonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy. Normally, for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance, it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something useful. In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit. She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine. She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend. That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue. It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he would remain on his best behaviour. It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed that he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country. It would involve staying in a hotel, as always, in separate rooms. When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution: keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report. After all, her reports on the places, the people, and the conversations she overheard were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But on this visit, the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report. She had realised at some point before the weekend away that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen. Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully on the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room. She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the minibar and took out the bottle of champagne left there for them, a treat Vladimir arranged for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit. She picked up the apple and thought about how Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival. It was, if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality. A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir. It was her worst nightmare.

…

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Dublin

Escape the Crowds: Dublin’s Top 5 Hidden Gem Attractions

Dublin is a city of undeniable charm, buzzing with energy, history, and a legendary pub scene. While iconic spots like the Guinness Storehouse, Trinity College, and Dublin Castle are must-sees, they often come with lengthy queues and shoulder-to-shoulder crowds.

But what if you long for a taste of authentic Dublin culture and history without the tourist rush?

Luckily, the Irish capital is brimming with distinctive features tucked away in quieter corners. We’ve compiled a list of the top five visitor attractions in Dublin that offer unique experiences, fascinating stories, and, best of all, a peaceful respite from the throngs.

1. The Chester Beatty Library

Nestled within the walls of Dublin Castle (but often overlooked by those rushing to the main courtyard), the Chester Beatty is a true global treasure. This museum and library holds the collected works of Sir Alfred Chester Beatty, one of the greatest collectors of the 20th century.

Why it’s distinctive: This isn’t just a collection of old books. You’ll find exquisite manuscripts, rare books, miniature paintings, and decorative arts from across Asia, the Middle East, North Africa, and Europe. It houses some of the world’s most important holdings of Islamic, East Asian, and Western printed materials.

The Quiet Factor: While the Dublin Castle grounds can be busy, the library itself offers a tranquil, dimly lit haven perfect for quiet reflection. Best of all? Admission is free. Don’t forget to visit the rooftop garden café for stunning views over the city.

2. The Dublin Writers Museum (Temporarily Closed – See Alternative Below)

Note: While the original Dublin Writers Museum building is currently closed for relocation, the spirit of literary Dublin is still alive and accessible in less-crowded formats.

The Alternative: The Museum of Literature Ireland (MoLI)

Located in UCD’s stately Newman House on St. Stephen’s Green, MoLI is a beautiful, modern museum dedicated to the rich tapestry of Irish writing, from James Joyce to contemporary voices.

Why it’s distinctive: Set in the beautiful historic home where literary giants like Gerard Manley Hopkins and James Joyce once studied, MoLI offers interactive displays, beautiful exhibitions (including the original ‘Copy No. 1’ of Joyce’s Ulysses), and stunning period rooms.

The Quiet Factor: While popular with writers and literature lovers, MoLI rarely reaches the peak capacity of the larger city museums. It offers spacious exhibition rooms and one of the finest cultural gift shops in the city. The tranquil, hidden courtyard garden is a perfect spot to enjoy a coffee and escape the city noise.

3. Richmond Barracks, Inchicore

Stepping slightly outside the immediate city centre opens up historical venues of immense importance. Richmond Barracks, located in the Inchicore area, offers a deep dive into pivotal moments of Irish history, particularly the 1916 Easter Rising.

Why it’s distinctive: This site served as the primary holding place for over 3,000 men arrested after the 1916 Rising. It was here that Pádraig Pearse and the other executed leaders were court-martialed. Today, it operates as a heritage centre and a community hub, offering moving and highly informative tours detailing the barracks’ role through the centuries, including its post-independence use as housing for local families.

The Quiet Factor: Because it requires a short tram ride (the Luas Red Line to Suir Road), it naturally filters out the casual tourist crowd. You’ll likely enjoy a small, intimate guided tour that allows for detailed questions and reflection.

4. The Marsh’s Library

For those who crave the smell of old paper and the feeling of stepping back in time, Marsh’s Library is an essential visit. Dating back to 1707, it is one of the oldest public libraries in Ireland.

Why it’s distinctive: This library remains virtually unchanged since it opened its doors in the early 18th century. It features beautiful dark oak bookcases, wire cages (used to prevent the theft of valuable texts), and over 25,000 rare and fascinating books. You can walk the very aisles where writers like Bram Stoker and James Joyce once studied.

The Quiet Factor: Tucked away behind St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Marsh’s charges a small entrance fee, which helps keep visitor numbers manageable. The atmosphere is hushed and reverential—it’s an ideal place to spend an hour truly absorbing Dublin’s intellectual history without jostling for space.

5. The Botanic Gardens (National Botanic Gardens of Ireland)

While not entirely undiscovered, Dublin’s National Botanic Gardens in Glasnevin offers such a vast, sprawling space that crowds simply melt away amongst the lush greenery.

Why it’s distinctive: Spread across nearly 50 acres, the gardens feature stunning Victorian glasshouses (including the curvilinear range designed by Richard Turner), extensive plant collections, a tranquil arboretum, and historically significant grounds. It’s an essential centre for conservation and research.

The Quiet Factor: Located a short bus ride north of the city centre (near the Glasnevin Cemetery, another excellent, quiet spot), the gardens provide endless walking paths, hidden benches, and quiet corners. You can easily spend an entire afternoon wandering the grounds and enjoying the peace, particularly once you move past the main entrance and glasshouses.

Trade the Noise for Narrative

Dublin’s biggest attractions tell a powerful story, but sometimes the best narratives are found off the beaten path. By seeking out these quieter, distinctive attractions, you can enjoy a more personal, profound, and peaceful encounter with the heart and history of the Irish capital. Happy Exploring!

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…